The King of England
by AwesomeGizmo
Summary: Mycroft has always been a protector to Sherlock, and he would continue to be a protector till the day he died. There is no worse nightmare for the King of England than his little brother being in danger because of his position. Turns out it's not only good dreams that can come true.


**A.N: Hi everybody, so this is my first Sherlock Fanfiction and I'm not completely sure of how I want to characterize these two but I feel confident enough to give it a go. Any comments anyone has that will be constructive are very much appreciated.**

 **A few notes, this isn't so much AU as some AUs I've seen, however it is noticeably different from the canon BBC show, so if that bothers you, sorry.**

 **Mummy Holmes' first name will be Violet in this fic. Father Holmes will be called Seigneur Holmes, which means he is the Lord of the manor or Lord Holmes, and his first name will be Siegfried.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and all rights go to their respective owners.**

* * *

The Holmes family was to put it bluntly, incredibly wealthy. It was such a wealth that allowed the best private tutors to be hired for the two Holmes heirs. It was also outstandingly obvious that one of the boys was a genius. His intellect alone exceeded that of most the household, sometimes including his tutors. The younger of the brothers, Mycroft was his name. But, he was woefully alone in the great manor of his home and thus equally devoted to his new baby brother when they were introduced.

* * *

"His name is Sherlock, Mycroft. Your new baby brother." Mycroft accepted the bundle of fabric from his mother, gazing into the deep green irises of his brother.

"He's small." Mycroft commented, he'd researched pregnancies when his mother had announced her pregnancy, the baby, _Sherlock_ , he corrected himself, was on time. Late in fact. He should be bigger.

"He's perfectly fine." The gruff voice of his father carried from the entranceway. Seigneur Holmes continued to mumble. "Don't understand how he's such a runt, Mycroft was fine, he was late, just wanted a _normal_ baby."

"You know that he had to be incubated Mycroft," his mother added, "he's fine now, he was just small when he was born, that's just how it was."

Nodding his head Mycroft accepted this answer. Sherlock was just a small baby. And he would take care of him, this was his little brother.

"Mycroft, honey, Mummy's tired, so is Father, could you just hold Sherlock? Put him in the crib if you don't want to, but we are going to go sleep for a bit. Oh don't look so worried, I trust you to take very good care of him."

After a confirmation from her son Mother Holmes ascended the large stairwell leading to the master bedroom.

"Sherrinford can also take him, wherever he is. In fact, I think it's a good idea he meets this newest addition to the Holmes family. Mycroft, do take him up." The Seigneur commanded, following his wife up the stairs.

Mycroft bristled nervously at his task; Sherrinford and him did not have a good relationship. His mother assured him it was just a bit of jealousy, but it often could turn violent between the two brothers.

Sherrinford on the other hand hated his brother. Mycroft was a brat through and through, always trying to one up his older brother he was sure. It made him feel like he was stupid, something Sherrinford was not used to. His parents had always told him that _he_ was smart and clever and would amount to greatness.

It was a violent blow to his ego when his brother of seven years his younger surpassed him in almost every aspect of the their respectable aristocrat life.

Though he supposed Mycroft's noble attempts to make the eldest Holmes brother like him was flattering.

Mycroft tiptoed up to his older brother's room, the baby still snuggled soundly in his arms. Carefully he knocked, entering only when he heard the rough affirmation.

"Father wants you to meet the new baby." He told Sherrinford, yet making no move to hand Sherlock over to him.

"Another brat I suppose. A runt too, at least now Brother, we have something in common. No doubt Mummy tasked you to take care of the whelp. You will soon see why I am so 'unfair' to you. I was just your age when you were born. Watch how quickly the little attention you have from Mummy and Father disappears to..."

"Sherlock." Mycroft supplied, still possessively holding his treasure. "He's not a brat."

"Excuse me?"

"He isn't a brat. He's just a baby, and I am going to take care of him."

"He'll bore you. Babies are incredibly daft Mycroft, need a good disciplinary upbringing to shape them."

"You'll see, you're wrong. If you don't want to meet him then fine, just don't come near him then. I'm sure you can manage that feat with your average attention span and completely obvious mental incapability compared to the rest of us. I know Sherlock is going to be a genius, and I always wanted to believe you were too but I understand now that you're just like father. _Dreadfully ordinary."_

Finished his tirade Mycroft turned from his brother and started for the door before being pulled back by his elder brother.

"What the Hell did you just say to me? How dare you talk to me like that when you are the lesser son. You and father know it, I'm inheriting the household when he keels over, and I assure you, you will get nothing from me."

"What makes you think I'd want it?"

Mycroft snapped his arm out of Sherrinford's grip, turning his body from Sherrinford to shield his baby brother the whole time.

* * *

When Sherlock was two, Mycroft had decided it was time to begin real lessons. Reading, writing, walking, and talking were all fine, advanced for his age even, but not for Sherlock. In fact, Mycroft was fairly sure it had bored him.

"Pay attention Sherlock, this is important. Simple arithmetic really, if you have four rows of red squares, each row with five squares, how many squares are there?"

His little face had scrunched up so tightly as he struggled to do the math in his head instead of with the blocks in front of him as a visual. It had made Mycroft smile. Finally, he'd answered his older brother.

"Twenty."

"Yes, well done Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled so brightly back then, proud to have done something right. Mycroft always made sure he felt validated, knowing from his parent's disinterest and brother's hatred it was something sorely missed.

They'd finished their lessons with little trouble, and Mycroft was glad for he had his own education to work on. Sherlock had different plans it seemed.

"Mycrof' play!" He excitedly cried out, "Mycrof' play pirates!"

Pirates, why always pirates? How on Earth did Sherlock develop an obsession with pirates of all things?

* * *

When Sherlock was four, and Mycroft eleven, their parents were debating sending Sherlock away to a school.

"He isn't natural. Too devoted to Mycroft he is, what will happen when Mycroft leaves for university? What if he _does_ something to us."

"Mycroft has influenced him as well, he's completely recluse from the rest of the world. Both your newer 'babies' are genius yes, but as you said, _not natural._ Perhaps separation is the best course of action, Sherlock may still come out well enough." Sherrinford added, earning an approving nod from his father but a reluctant glance from Mother Holmes.

Their whispered voices were unfortunately, not quiet enough.

"Sherlock won't like it at a school! They're too stupid for him there, he's already passed them with his intellect. Mother, you must at least see that?" Mycroft defiantly stepped from his hiding place, staring at his parents with hard eyes.

"I'm the only one who understands him and you know it, you don't even try!"

"Mycroft that is quite enough!" Despite the confidence Mycroft still felt in his chest from being both the smartest and being in control of the room, he flinched at his father's words. "Whether or not Sherlock goes is not your decision it is ours."

"You barely even know him! I spend every moment with him, we barely even see you three at dinner times! Sending him away won't do any good, it'll make him worse."

"Yes, and it is your devotion to each other which is concerning! Will you always be able to be there Mycroft? Hm? You cannot shield him from the world forever, he is going to have to learn how to manage with other people!" Sherrinford hissed.

"Are you sure that is the reason you are bothered by my affection towards Sherlock? It isn't because I finally figured out I'll never gain yours and moved on to someone who is actually worth my time?"

"Myc!" Mother scolded, while Sherrinford jumped up in outrage.

"How dare you!"

"I will say what needs to be said for the good of Sherlock! I'm telling you now, he will hate it there."

"His complete _lack_ of knowledge of society, or emotions for that matter, leads me to believe that that boy you are protecting is a psychopath!"

"He's not a psychopath! Don't you dare say that!" Mycroft almost physically felt himself losing control as he made a lunge for his brother.

Seigneur Holmes caught Mycroft before he reached him, but all members of their impromptu family meeting stared at the middle brother in shock. Then Mycroft was on the ground, a red mark already forming on his cheek.

"A lesson in respect. Why is it that you forget yourself constantly when it regards Sherlock?" Father asked, still towering over his son.

Mycroft remained silent, keeping his eyes to the ground until his sensitive hearing picked up another set of breaths going in and out. He glanced upwards and winced just as Sherlock emerged from his hiding place, eyes blazing, he probably hadn't been there long, but long enough.

Mycroft saw his hesitance turn into defiance as his shoulders squared back and the flames of anger in his eyes but also hints of fear began to spark. His brother inhaled a breath to begin putting their father off no doubt, but instead was buried in his brother's shoulder as Mycroft scrambled up and scooped him to his chest. He pressed Sherlock's curls into himself, hoping to muffle Sherlock's words if any managed to escape.

"He isn't a baby Mycroft, put him down." Their mother said, Mycroft noticed she had long forgone the 'one glass a night' rule with her expensive scotch this evening.

"I'm putting him back to bed, Sir, Mummy." He whispered, a firm grip still on the bundle of curls.

"Both of you then, out of my sight." Father waved a dismissive hand, and Mycroft hurried away.

Despite that night taking an unfortunate turn, Mycroft's outrage had somehow convinced Mummy, and Sherlock hadn't left for school until he'd made the decision himself. Though, looking back, it may have been also been compensation for his father's actions.

There always was some kind of treat afterwards.

* * *

There was doubt that Mycroft was more intelligent than Sherlock, but even he admitted barely so. His brother was fantastic at making deductions by the time he was nine, Sherlock felt so proud of himself every time his brother praised him for getting it right while at the park.

Unfortunately, Sherlock lacked his brother's ability to conform himself to what the situation demanded, saying what was on his mind with no thought of repercussions.

Mycroft, of course had faced the rage of his father before. Usually it was on his brothers behalf, knowing himself how to act in order to impress his father, but he never blamed Sherlock. Sherlock was special, just a child really, and he vowed to God himself he would do whatever it took to never allow his father to harm him.

He was still nervous whenever important dinner parties came around. Sherlock wasn't stupid though, he knew what went on behind their father's study door after he'd done something and Mycroft had craftily taken the blame for him. So he tried to be good like Mycroft, he really did. But sometimes he couldn't stop himself, couldn't turn it off like Mycroft did.

He'd done well until that arrogant prat of a co-worker had insulted his lack of friends. Mycroft inwardly remarked as Father took a large gulp of his whiskey after Sherlock had finished his deductions.

He was correct. The man was cheating on his wife with another man, and from the scratches on the watch, and slightly rumpled shirt sleeve, had quite a drinking problem.

This was, understandably, not something that should've been voiced. From the look on Father's face Mycroft was afraid he may not be able to protect Sherlock this time.

He was right.

"Have you any idea what you've cost me today!" Father knocked back the remaining of his third glass of whiskey. "You're a disgrace! Why can't you be like your older brothers?"

"I-I'm sorry Father, I didn't mean-"

"Of course you meant it! You said it didn't you? No one made you run your mouth!" Sherlock quivered in fear, wondering if it was finally going to happen. "It's high time you were taught your lesson!"

At this Mycroft jumped up, he knew Sherlock had to be punished somehow, all the books had said he needed some kind of reinforcement for good or bad behaviour, but it would come from him. His parents could give him a scolding then hand him off to Mycroft as when he does something of unimportance like dirty his clothes before dinner. He _would not_ allowhis father to touch him.

"Father! I agree with you completely, but you needn't do that. I will handle him now, I daresay Sherlock you will not be seeing the inside of that treehouse for the next two weeks, rather you'll be aquatinted with the silverware polish." He feigned sternness, reaching out signalling for his brother to come to him.

Sherlock got the hint, rushing towards Mycroft but also doing his best to look downtrodden by his punishment. In a way he was, no free time for two weeks? But he considered the alternative and would much rather polish the silver.

Siegfried however, was not about to let his son out of the lesson he'd planned. Through the haze of alcohol he glared at both his younger sons, one trying to shield the other.

"Not so fast. Whatever you do to care for the whelp obviously isn't working, and if you can't deal with it I'll beat it into him."

Mycroft felt Sherlock press himself into his back, whimpering slightly in fear. Protective instincts roared fiercely within him as his mind worked overtime trying to find a way out of this for both of them.

The results weren't promising. He chose the situation that resulted with the least amount of bodily harm to himself and to Sherlock.

"Father, that's hardly necessary. Look at him, he's scared, he won't do it again."

"After this I know he won't. Stand aside Mycroft. Sherlock! Come here." But Mycroft didn't move, and when Sherlock made to go to their father he pushed him back. "I said, stand. aside."

"No."

And in that moment the whole world stopped. Then it exploded.

Mycroft was on the ground, a small cut from their father's ring on his cheek, Sherlock was crying, and Siegfried was shouting. He reached down and ripped him off the ground.

"Don't you dare disrespect me like that again! I am tired of your defiance, I should of beat you well enough back then, maybe you'd have figured out how to take care of yourself rather than just _him_. It isn't an advantage, is it Mycroft? Hm? Remember my words, because you'll at least learn something from me today. Caring is not an advantage!" He punctuated each word of the cold motto by shaking Mycroft.

"Stop it Father! Stop!" Sherlock cried out, grabbing the arm that held Mycroft. He got his wish, Mycroft was thrown to the ground while the Seigneur rounded onto Sherlock.

"And you! You are twice as bad! You can't even look good sometimes, you are always ALWAYS disgracing our name! Your brother has shielded you for far too long Sherlock, and like a coward you have let him."

He grabbed Sherlock, his grip coming up to the back of his neck, forcing him to move where his father chose. He cried out in pain, making Mycroft look up in search of his brother. He was quickly pressed down again with a quick kick under his arms.

"Look at him Sherlock, is that what you wanted? Hey? You happy that your brother is on the ground bleeding because he got it in his head that he wanted to play protector?"

Sherlock shook his head, tears freely running down his cheeks.

"Him or you Sherlock, your decision." He growled, reaching with his other hand to pour and take another drink. "He's been in this position at least a dozen times because of you."

"He isn't even ten yet Father! He made a mistake, there is absolutely no need for this."

"Know your place or it'll be both of you."

Mycroft met Sherlock's gaze then, a silent plea within his eyes. Sherlock and him had been over this, it's supposed to always be Sherlock first. Sherlock is supposed to choose Mycroft and get himself to safety.

Nine year old Sherlock glanced between his father and brother frantically, while his father's words echoed in his mind. Caring is not an advantage.

"Stop... Stop hurting Mycroft." He finally ground out. Mycroft closed his eyes, he wasn't supposed to do that.

* * *

Sherrinford had never needed to attend university, as he'd be inheriting the estate and then later the family business, and even when he hchose to it was just more preparation for his upcoming wealth. It wasn't hard on either Sherlock or Mycroft.

It was a different matter completely with Mycroft. Not only did he have to attend university in order to become qualified for a job, he wanted to leave and never look back. But he always would, look back that is, because he had to make the agonizing decision of leaving his brother with _them_.

He worried it was a betrayal that Sherlock would be unable to forgive him for.

"Mycroft," the older brother looked up from his Physics text, gesturing for the younger to enter, he scanned Sherlock quickly, he'd just been outside collecting beetles it seemed. "We need to talk."

"What is it Brother Mine?" He spun his chair to face the bed where Sherlock had crawled and sat down.

"You're almost eighteen, almost _graduated,_ we both know what that means." Mycroft closed his eyes again, digging the heels of his palms into them.

"Yes." There wasn't anything else to say. Sherlock's face contorted and how Mycroft longed to hold him.

"Take me with you."

Little did Sherlock know that Mycroft had seriously debated doing exactly that. Stealing his little brother in the middle of the night maybe, getting an apartment in the city, they'd be happy. Except, both with his schooling and eventual job, how long would he be away from the house? He wouldn't be able to take care of him properly.

"Sherlock I can't, I-"

"What am I supposed to do? I can't turn it off like you can! You help me remember to turn it off, you protect me, please Mye, I'm sorry for all the times you had to take it for me, I promise I won't make you, but I don't want to be alone, I'm scared."

"I wouldn't be able to take care of you properly Sherlock!"

"And they can? Food means little to me, and I can help around the house."

"I won't be home to make sure you eat Sherlock, and you forget so often... Not to mention how much I'll be out of the house, you'd basically be living alone. What if someone found out that an eleven year old boy was home alone all day? I can't lose you Sherlock!"

"Mycroft please!"

"Don't beg Sherlock, just, just don't." Both boys were near tears by now, wanting to scream and rage and destroy what was pulling them a part.

"It's either going to be Sherrinford or Father." Sherlock brokenly whispered. Mycroft's head snapped up, his thoughts screaming.

"What do you mean Sherlock?" He rose from his desk chair opting to sit next to his brother on the bed.

"You're not stupid Mycroft. They both hate me, Mummy is either ignoring me or upset by me, she turns a blind a eye, one day I'll do something so bad that they'll kill me. It won't be immediate, maybe when I'm a little older and they think I'll be strong enough-"

"That's preposterous. You're their son, their brother. They won't-"

"Last time he broke your leg shoving you down the stairs because you stepped in front of me." Sherlock was beginning to get angry. "You could of easily hit your head. Enough force from the right place and that's it."

"He was drunk, Mother assured me it wouldn't happen again."

After that night when Sherlock was nine, he'd kept insisting that Mycroft not protect him anymore. But of course, he did. It angered Sherlock. It angered their father. And as a result Mycroft had broken his leg, irreparably it seemed. He'd always have a bit of pain, a subtle limp.

"You can't guarantee that. You're abandoning me!"

"Keep your voice down! Sherrinford is down the hall, he doesn't need a reason to thrash you. He'll do it for the fun of it."

"Oh I get it." Sherlock's voice dripped disdain. Mycroft was leaving him here, was tired and bored of his stupid little brother who was too oblivious to realize that he didn't care about Sherlock as much as Sherlock cared for him.

"Sherlock- No you don't understand anything! No, I didn't mean it like that, Sherlock please! Sherlock!"

Protestations which fell upon deaf ears as Sherlock stormed away from Mycroft with a slam of the door.

Mycroft wanted to scream, to lash out and destroy his whole damn room. There was an unadulterated rage and such a strong sense of _grief_.

* * *

This hadn't been the end of their relationship. Mycroft would never stand for it. There'd been a party, of course, his father was showing off the genius of another son. It was the night before he left for university, and he and Sherlock had exchanged less than a dozen words since before the fight.

Mycroft greeted another businessman, another who thought his career would match his father and brother's. He secretly made a plan of obtaining a position in the government, if he could become powerful enough to be untouchable he'd be able to do anything.

His eyes scoured the room for his baby brother, who he'd definitely seen only fifteen minutes ago. This was his last night here, and he would repair their relationship.

Finally he found him, looking miserable but out at least. As far as he could tell he was doing well, impressing Lord Cromwell and his wife instead of offending them.

"Lord Cromwell, Lady Cromwell," Mycroft smoothly greeted, "And how are you this fine evening?"

"Good, good Mycroft. Look at you, so strapping, no doubt you'll be going into the business as well no?"

"Actually I was thinking of a government position. For Queen and country yes?" He chuckled, raising the glass of brandy. Lord Cromwell had connections inside the government, he hoped to obtain some of them tonight.

"Ah, a government man. Just as well too, why after you finish your schooling call me up anytime and we'll get you a decent opportunity. I've got a couple of friends here and there, and I wouldn't mind cashing in some of the favours owed for the son of Siegfried Holmes!"

In a move no doubt executed countless times, so much that it almost looked instinctual, Lord Cromwell watched as Mycroft stuck out his arm and pulled his little brother to him against his legs. It was something a mother would do and yet it did not look unnatural when executed by the Holmes brothers.

"You must be very proud of your big brother, eh Sherlock?" Mycroft swallowed nervously. Sherlock didn't always react well to being pulled in like a baby and after their row... Why he could see five things at least on Lord Cromwell that Sherlock could offend him with.

Sherlock stiffened. "Yes. I'm very proud of Mycroft, he's going to be a big government man. I know it."

Despite Sherlock's kind words, Mycroft frowned. They didn't sound like Sherlock at all, they _sounded_ like an eleven year old goldfish. He chanced a glance around and his eyes landed upon Seigneur Holmes. The grip on Sherlock tightened ever so slightly.

The jolly chuckling of the man in front of him brought Mycroft out of his thoughts.

Sherlock still remained pressed against his front like a rowdy child in his mother's arms.

"No doubt why the Holmes family are on top, they keep breeding geniuses!" Mycroft forced a chuckle at the joke, and even got Sherlock to smile at it.

"No need to cling to me Mycroft. You aren't Mother." Sherlock finally mumbled once the Lord moved on to another conversation.

Mycroft, for once, listened and released him.

"I'm always Mother." He grinned, remembering the times he'd uttered that very phrase when Sherlock had complained that he _wasn't_ their mother, and shouldn't be allowed to tell him to get in the bath.

"I have to talk to you, after the party."

This surprised Mycroft, he imagined a lot more bargaining before they got to this point.

"Alright. Considering I am leaving in the morning, I'll tell Cook to sneak some cakes up to your room." He was setting himself up and he knew it, but Sherlock always liked taking a jab at him.

For a moment, he thought Sherlock wouldn't even indulge him in their petty banter.

"I doubt you should. Your diet isn't working as it is." The younger Holmes finally said, causing a small grin to cross both brothers face.

"Come, let us greet more guests. You're doing so well Sherlock, you're smarter than everyone in the room."

"Even you?"

" _Almost_ everyone."

Later, when it was just the two of them, it was more awkward. More emotional, more tense too. Mycroft wasn't supposed to see Sherlock during the night times anymore, a way to get Sherlock used to a life without him. If Sherrinford or their father had heard them...

"Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered, shutting the door behind him with the utmost of care. "Are you still awake?"

The bundle of curls turned itself over, and glowing blue eyes stared back at him. Sometimes blue, sometimes green, Mycroft has always been entranced with seeing them.

"I'm awake." Mycroft hummed at the response. He struck a match and lit a candle, sitting facing his brother on his bed.

"Best keep the lights off, but this is like the pirates of old."

"I'm not a baby Mycroft, I don't play pirates anymore."

"You could, with Redbeard after I'm gone, it would appease Mother and Father if you did."

"Why?"

"Because stupider children don't grow out of it till they are twelve or thirteen."

"Mycroft, couldn't you at least consider taking me?"

Mycroft sighed. "Oh Sherlock, I already have. For hours and hours even before we discussed it. You wouldn't be safe, it wouldn't be legal. If someone caught wind of it, I could be charged with child abduction or you could be taken by either the ministry or someone else. I can't put you at risk like that."

This time Sherlock stayed, seeming to accept the answer with a resigned nod of the head.

"You'll be gone for how many years?"

"Forever Sherlock, I can't stay here any longer. But every holiday I'll come and take you away, okay? And maybe, when I'm not so busy with school, if I can maintain a position in the government that won't take too much time, then we'll discuss the matter of your custody."

"Really?" Sherlock's eyes brightened for a moment. Before he looked down again. "I doubt it'll be necessary. I'll have aged out by then, and done exactly what you're doing now, leaving and not looking back."

"I'll _constantly_ be looking back. How else am I to see you?" This earned a grin from Sherlock, who slid off the bed and into his closet.

"I've got something for you." He called back to Mycroft, "a present, I got one of the maids to buy it for me while she was in town."

Mycroft was surprised at the gesture, Sherlock wasn't allowed off the grounds with the exception of the local park, it must of took a great deal of planning and work on his part to get him anything.

"It's rainy in London," his brother explained, holding out to him a beautiful designer umbrella. "and I know that your leg sometimes hurts when you walk, but you're too stubborn and proud to use a cane."

Mycroft took the umbrella, it truly felt as beautiful as it looked.

"It's reinforced," Sherlock went on, "even you could put your whole body weight on it and it wouldn't break. It's good as a weapon as well."

"What need do I have for a weapon for Sherlock?"

The boy shrugged, and upon seeing his face Mycroft quickly corrected himself.

"But at least you're thinking ahead, you've managed to give me an umbrella, a cane and a means of defence in one gift. It's splendid Sherlock."

The other nodded, perking up slightly.

"I've a present for you as well Brother Mine." Sherlock looked at him with his curious little expression, analyzing him with the eye Mycroft himself had trained, trying to find his gift.

"As you said before, it's cold in London, rainy. Wouldn't want you catching a cold, would we?" Mycroft presented him the package, which he had folded and put into the pocket of his waistcoat.

Sherlock hated how his older brother talked and made him feel like a baby! Like he was stupid! But at the same time... he liked it. All he's ever had was Mycroft, even if he did coddle him much too much, it still meant he was here.

Carefully, the youngest Holmes unwrapped his present. A dark blue scarf lay folded inside, reaching out he felt the fabric, wool, and how soft it felt, how warm. It wasn't as good of a present as his, but it was still good.

"Thank you." He whispered, taking the bundle of blue into his hands. "It's great Mycroft."

Sherlock watched his brother's reactions, he smiled and he seemed generally pleased of Sherlock's reaction to his gift but there was still sadness there. For once he understood why.

"If it makes you feel better Brother, I'll try very hard to avoid angering Father. The other kids don't like me... They call me a freak."

"Oh Sherlock, I know. They're goldfish compared to us just remember that okay? You can please Father some way other than playing with the children."

He nodded, feeling an odd lump forming in his throat. He'd said this to one other person in his life, and had immediately been dismissed. But if it pleases Mycroft he would "bite the bullet." As it is said.

"I do love you Mycroft, I'll miss you." Sherlock whispered, crawling towards Mycroft and settling into his lap.

"I love you too Sherlock. You are my world." The words were unfamiliar and strangely sentimental, but they gave both a warm feeling in their stomachs.

"Tell me the story."

"You said it was too childish for you now."

"Tell it to me anyway."

So Mycroft did, telling Sherlock of an wind that blew so hard from the east that it swept up entire countries. Until a little boy with changing eyes and curly hair came up with a plan that protected his home from the east wind. He trapped it, saving his home and the rest of the world.

By now, Sherlock was very nearly asleep, still cuddled in Mycroft's lap. His older brother smiled at him, he was always so small; he still fit nestled between his legs.

"M'crof? When are you leaving...? Don't wan you t'go." He mumbled, snuggling further into his arms.

"Shh Sherlock, I don't want to go either." He took hold of his little brother's hand and drew soft circles on his palm.

 _'Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear..._

 _'One step._ ' he walked his fingers once towards his wrist _'two steps._ ' one more step made.

' _Tickle you here._ ' but instead of tickling Sherlock's stomach, he rubbed circles onto it.

It was the only nursery rhyme Mycroft had known as a seven year old, the only song Sherlock had ever been sung. Now it was the only song that he accepted, throwing tantrums when Mycroft had tried learning other songs.

"Goodnight Sherlock." Mycroft whispered, for what was the last time for ten years.

"Goodnight."

* * *

The next morning had been a series of false tears and fake heartfelt goodbyes. Mycroft had been packed of course, and a car had taken his luggage ahead of time. He had an hour to say goodbye to his family.

"I'm sure you'll honour the name of Holmes." His father said, albeit quite stiffly.

There'd never been a relationship there in the first place, or it was too businesslike to be anything paternal, and even after the first couple times Mycroft had still kept his views of his father impressively neutral.

Until that night when Sherlock was nine and Siegfried had taken him into his study, forcing him to choose between himself or Mycroft; forcing Mycroft to watch as the brother he treasured so dearly was beaten.

There was no respect or good natured thoughts left for Seigneur Holmes in Mycroft.

"I shall try, Father." Mycroft replied, equally stiff. Dismissed with a nod without a word, as expected.

"Don't be in a hurry to come back." Sherrinford was next, biting the words out vehemently. Mycroft would've made a smart remark back if he were not leaving Sherlock to his older brother.

"Of course not." Mycroft smiled tightly. "In fact, I have absolutely no plans to return for more than a day at a time. I've had enough of your company for a lifetime."

This time Sherrinford grinned. "Good riddance, but I know you plan on taking the other brat on holidays. A couple words from me and you know that'll never happen. Watch your tone." Mycroft grit his jaw, but submitted just the same.

"Keep away from Sherlock, Sherrinford. It was a _pleasure_ being your brother." Mycroft spat the words like they were poison.

Mother approached, grasping Mycroft's elbows.

"Mycroft, my middle baby. You take care of yourself, you hear?" She was smiling a sad smile, a smile Mycroft had come to associate with his mother.

"I will, but I must ask that you take care of Sherlock in return." She sighed, opening her mouth to protest no doubt, before he cut her off that is. "In eleven years I have asked for nothing from you Mother, I have given you the space you so desperately needed, now I ask for this, do not deny me."

"Mycroft-"

"Let's make this simpler then, because you obviously are incapable of actually raising a child. You ignore your children, dismissing the abuse brought upon them as drunken mistakes, and when it was just me, I was okay with that."

"Mycroft, please don't do this now."

"No, Mother, I will say this now or not at all. Sherrinford was allowed to _join in_ , I am allowed to speak my mind this once. You will take care of Sherlock, or I will ruin the Holmes good name by calling Protective Services and take him myself."

His mother gasped, clearly affronted by the blatant nature of his threat.

"I will drag all your names through the mud. I have pictures, hundreds of pictures Mummy." Mycroft lied easily, a dark glint in his eyes. "Don't try me."

He walked away from his distraught mother, around the corner where Sherlock was no doubt trying to hide from him.

"Hello Brother."

"We aren't here to say hellos Mycroft, the opposite in fact." Sherlock corrected him without thought.

"Indeed. But that wouldn't be nearly as fun to start with would it?"

His brother turned to face him, and Mycroft immediately detected the sadness in his eyes.

"You'll be back every holiday? Right?"

"I won't miss one, I promise." To Mycroft's horror, Sherlock's eyes welled with tears. "Oh Sherlock..." Quickly, he pulled his younger brother into an embrace. "He won't touch you in the mean time, I've just assured that. If Mummy asks, I've take hundreds of pictures of you. Understood?"

A sniffle. Then another one. Finally, the youngest Holmes spoke.

"Still need you here."

"I still need you with me too. Write often, won't you?"

Sherlock nodded. "You have your umbrella out, it's not even raining." He changed the subject casually, wiping away his snot and tears.

"Serves as a reminder. As long as I have it I remember you, and how much you mean to me." The pair grinned, and Mycroft ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

"Then my scarf shall share the same silly sentiment." Sherlock agreed, on the verge of giggling.

A car horn honked, breaking the touching moment. They'd been having more of them lately, Mycroft mused. He wasn't usually so utterly soft.

"It seems it is time to say goodbye." Mycroft whispered. "You'll take care of yourself." It wasn't a question.

"I'll do my best. Don't gain too much weight in London, you already have strayed away from that ghastly diet of yours."

"I'll do my best." Mycroft smiled, "goodbye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye Mycroft."

* * *

Their relationship had even ended on a good note. Assurances and silly emotional words of comfort. Calm banter and an embrace, how did they stray so far away from that? Ah, yes. Mycroft's rapid rise to power.

He should never have promised.

* * *

Mycroft typed leisurely at his computer, the matter at hand was not a matter of the fate of England, thus it could wait. No matter how important the Prime Minister seemed to imagine it was.

His schooling had taken two years, dreadfully boring, incredibly easy, but necessary. Lord Cromwell's connections had worked out well, he was climbing the status rapidly. He currently was serving as an advisor for the Prime Minister, but he hoped to surpass that soon.

A small smile graced his lips, Christmas was soon. Sherlock was fourteen now, and from his letters, was eager for an escape from that house. He felt small hints of sympathy, Redbeard had to be put down due to old age not two months ago, it left Sherlock very lonely.

An assistant scuffled in, placing an envelope in front of him and leaving before he was done opening it. Every week there was a letter.

 ** _Mycroft,_**

 ** _Everything is so boring here. Are you sure you can't pick me up before the 19th? I can take care of myself for a few days, you know it too. It's not like I'd wander around your boring street, I've seen it enough as it is. Your flat at least holds some promise to entertain me, which is impressive in itself because your life is so boring._**

 ** _My tutor is incompetent, I thought you said you were going to get me a better one. This one is from a university yes, but she treats me as a child and is woefully stupider than her student. Can't you find me a decent tutor for once?_**

 ** _Mummy is always upset now, anything I do upsets her. I still think it's lingering emotion from whatever you said to her when you left. Not complaining, it's not like Mummy was overly fond of me in the first place._**

 ** _Speaking of overly fond, Sherrinford has an infatuation with Emily. That's the tutor by the way, it's quite amusing; considering he has no idea how to talk to anyone, much less a girl. She won't go for him anyway, I made sure of that myself. Sherrinford makes it too easy honestly, he quite literally leaves his own incriminations on his sleeve. Before you start, I am smart about it. As much as you seem to disbelieve it, I am not an idiot. I only tell her things that she could also figure out on her own if she tried hard enough. I've learned from the best how to cover my tracks._**

 ** _Which reminds me, how is your boring job going? I couldn't care less, I was just wondering if we were moving flats anytime soon. I don't like my current room, and there's nothing to inspect there. Except the obvious mould in the bathroom, but that's another matter entirely._**

 ** _All that aside, don't be late on Saturday. I can't stand it here, you know that. They haven't done anything, before you ask. Not physically anyway, but living with this amount of stupidity grows tiring._**

 ** _How's the diet going? Or is it at all? It's Christmastime so I won't scrutinize you too much. (I still wager that you'll have gained 9.5 pounds since Midsummer Festival.) I'll see you soon then._**

 ** _-Sherlock_**

Mycroft thought his brother was very entertaining in his letters. He knew however, that the boredom was not exaggerated, Sherlock spent much too much time making this letter, suggesting he was killing time. Again. It was always dangerous when Sherlock got bored.

He did have to smile at how Sherlock deemed his flat 'theirs' despite only staying in it for two months total of the year. Maybe he could take him early, just this once.

 ** _Sherlock,_**

 ** _This has nothing to do with your incessant whining, but yes, I suppose I can pick you up on Wednesday, the 17th instead. But you will not be staying in the flat alone. I think you'd find the House of Commons interesting no? Try to appreciate what I do, I'm slowly rising to the top, imagine having England under your thumb. Thrilling isn't it?_**

 ** _Emily was the top of her class, how was I to know she was just as stupid as the rest of them? She seemed intelligent enough. Are you at least learning what you need for university? I know it's boring Sherlock, but necessary. How are you to know anything above what you already do unless you read and study the books I send to you?_**

 ** _Don't pay attention to the rest of the household, they're hardly worth it. Just focus on your studies will you? The faster you finish up the faster you're out of there. University isn't so bad, you certainly learn about... The human condition._**

 ** _Don't get smart with Sherrinford, Sherlock. My lie won't protect you indefinitely, and certainly not from a drunken rage. Just stay out of their way. I'm sorry I'm not there, you know I am. Soon though Sherlock, I'll have enough power to do whatever I want behind closed doors, without a trace. Make a deduction on what the first thing I'll be doing is._**

 ** _My minor position is beginning to look very good for us, I won't be upgrading flats anytime soon, I hardly spend time there, but at a later date we can see about it._**

 ** _I will be there at noon on the 17th, do not keep me waiting Sherlock. I'll expect you to be completely packed, and no more than two suitcases. One for your leisure time equipment and one for your necessities such as clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, and Epipen. No arguing about the latter, I don't care if it's been years, you will carry it with you. You will be completely ready, and looking respectable enough to accompany me to London._**

 ** _I look forward to your visit, you always have enjoyed Christmas haven't you? If it pleases you I will get a tree, but I think we both know there's no point in buying something we'll use only once. Do pack your winter things, it's chilly around this time of year._**

 ** _Your wager is incorrect, I had gained only five pounds last Christmastime. Factor in my steady position and increase in power, reducing stress and increasing funds for proper foods and you get the proper amount Sherlock. I am maintaining my weight, be more observant next time. I'll see you soon._**

 ** _-Mycroft Holmes_**

He paged the assistant, whoever it was today, and without a glance gave them the folded letter to be mailed. They knew where it was going, and knew that if the boss's little brother didn't receive it in at most two days they would be out of a job. They took care of it.

Mycroft opened his desk drawer, pulling out the tin that held all of Sherlock's letters from since he left for university, hundreds of them all folded and placed in the tin, and added the newest one. He allowed himself a moment to think, to remember what his little brother looked like, how he giggled and smiled and made brilliant deductions.

"Sir." He looked up dangerously and expectantly at the voice intruding on his thoughts. "The Prime Minister is on the line. He'd like to know when your uhm, assignment will be taken care of?"

"Promptly I expect. If he could stop pestering me that is." He deadpanned. He was quite sick of taking orders from their incompetent Prime Minister. Just a little bit more string pulling and he should be his superior in hopefully six months, at most a year.

With that happy thought, Mycroft packed up his briefcase and closed the office door.

"Sir, that man is here again. The one who claims you ruined his life." The assistant announced, glancing at his phone.

"Why I imagine that's a great amount of people, please name names." He replied coldly.

"Godfrey Baker, a former member of parliament, you exposed his plan to undermine the Prime Minister before he'd even begun it. That information ended his career as a rising politician. I hear he owns a convenience store now."

"And what exactly does he want with me?"

"I imagine Sir, he wants to blame you in person."

"How dull. I won't see him, send him away."

"Yes sir. But he is getting more insistent, should I put him on the black list?"

"I hardly think that's necessary, he isn't a threat."

In hindsight, he shouldn't have assumed anything before seeing for himself, that was the greatest mistake of that day.

* * *

Mycroft had always been on time. No matter what, but especially in regards to his little brother.

Sherlock hated being rushed, and he hated being told what to do. Both of which Mycroft had done and it was very annoying. He knew what he needed for his transport, he didn't need his older brother micromanaging his life every second of the day.

"This is boring Mycroft, why can't I just get dropped off at the flat?"

"I've told you why, Sherlock. And you will behave, not a word. Not many people even get to glimpse in the House of Commons, never mind at your age. Do your schoolwork."

"Mycroft, it's _boring_!" Sherlock whined, for a split moment Mycroft grinned at his childishness. Quickly he reigned himself in, looking up sternly at his brother.

"You can either do your schoolwork or take a walk to the toilets. Do not touch anything, speak to anyone, or go anywhere else."

The fourteen year old huffed, but stood. "Fine, where's the stupid loo then?"

"You're a clever boy, I'm sure you can figure it out." Mycroft said, making the search a game for Sherlock. "You're also clever enough to know where and where you aren't supposed to be."

"Yes, yes, no breaking anything or barging into a political meeting, I'll be back in ten minutes tops." Sherlock was visibly perked, interested in this new challenge for now.

"I don't know, it's a fairly big floor." Mycroft challenged further.

"Ten minutes. Tops." His brother repeated more confidently before scurrying out of Mycroft's office.

"Walking, Sherlock!" Mycroft called after him, the smirk actually in his voice.

The younger slowed to a purposeful stride. His eyes darted about, cataloging and memorizing everything he saw. For a while he just wandered and looked at everything, already confident with where the bathroom was.

Honestly, did Mycroft think he was _that_ stupid that he couldn't notice the wear marks double on one door, or the faint scent of antiseptic coming from the same place?

But he didn't want to go back to Mycroft's stupid, boring office. Where he would be forced to finish the schoolwork his tutor had given him which was too easy and too boring to do.

Eventually, Sherlock came upon a man who appeared to be lost or some foolish thing. Mycroft had directed him to be a silent visitor, so he started moving on before the man directed him back.

"You, Boy. Do you work here as some holiday intern or something of the like?"

Sherlock stopped, turning to face the man and automatically seeing everything about him. Things like _'Has a dog' 'Power-hungry' 'Semi-unemployed' 'Drinking problem'_ flashed in front of his eyes.

"No, Sir. I'm visiting." He finally replied. "You're lost then?"

"How on earth did you-? Never mind I must have looked as confused as I was," the man chuckled. "The bathrooms if you know where they are _s'il vous plait_."

"My-" Sherlock stumbled remembering he was not to name Mycroft at all. "My mother told me not to talk to anyone."

"Smart woman, but surely you can give directions to the lavatory from here?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but an arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against their person. It was of course, Mycroft.

"Where the devil have you been?" Mycroft whispered into his ear, "I thought I told you not to talk to anyone, it's been over twenty minutes."

"I was just giving him direct-"

"Later, Sherlock." Mycroft looked up at the man, who was now glaring daggers at him. "Sir Baker, what a surprise to see you here."

"It shouldn't be, . Considering you're the one who got me fired."

"My job is to protect the Prime Minister with less leg work than his security team. You sought to pose a threat to him, I eliminated the threat." Mycroft's own voice darkened and Sherlock suddenly found being pressed against him more appealing than being on the other side of that glare.

"And what if I posed an even bigger threat to you, Holmes? Would you have me eliminated in a more permanent way?" Baker's voice was dangerous in nature.

"I'd have your life in shambles around you and you in jail." Mycroft replied easily.

"What if I destroyed yours beforehand?"

"Inside the House of Commons? We are in an incredibly secure place, and I know you are unarmed. Good luck." Mycroft retorted, "And you should know if you try, I will _personally_ deal with you."

Sherlock knew that this translated into _'I will destroy you.'_

"Hm, you're not always in your little safe security bubble." It sounded vaguely like a threat. "Nice kid." He tipped his head towards Sherlock. Mycroft's eyes darkened considerably. "Unexpected love child...? No, that's not it."

"I suggest you take your leave." Mycroft's tone left no room for argument.

"He your kid brother?"

"I said, take your leave Sir."

"What's he doing with you? Your parents die or something?"

"No, they're alive." Sherlock blurted, only to be shushed by his older brother.

"I see." Sir Baker, as far as Sherlock could tell, thought he was much more intelligent than he truly was. He stared at Sherlock for a long time, then up to Mycroft before turning on his heel and walking down the corridor in defeat. Something about him reminded Sherlock of his father.

Mycroft unceremoniously spun Sherlock to face him, his hands holding his shoulders in a death grip.

"I _told you_ , not to talk to anyone."

"He was just asking for directions to the lavatory-"

"No! I said don't talk to anyone, I mean don't talk to anyone! What if he knew who you were? What if he thought hurting you would get to me? _Think_ Sherlock."

"Let go of me Mycroft! You aren't Father!" Mycroft instantly let go, his hands burning in what could only be shame.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to hurt you. But you must understand, that man is an enemy of mine. Any man you meet in here could be an enemy of mine. Please, until I introduce you to someone do not speak to anyone."

Sherlock nodded, finally understanding what was so distressing to Mycroft and looking somewhat shaken himself.

"It's five o'clock. Let's go back to the flat." Mycroft finally said, changing the subject. "I'll make you dinner."

Still silent, Sherlock nodded again. Draping an arm over his baby brother Mycroft led him to a dark sedan waiting to take them home.

...

"Mycroft, your cooking is terrible." Sherlock joked, dramatically draping himself over the table. "I think it's poisoned me."

Mycroft grinned over his own plate, "Always such a dramatic, it's your favourite and you and I both know it."

"I jest Brother Mine, it's a very good chicken."

"There we go." Mycroft smiled, and tipped his head. "Your room is just how you left it. I did tidy it a bit, you know how I hate messes."

"Everything was where I _wanted_ it Mycroft! Why must you always do that?"

"Living in chaos is no way to live Sherlock."

"You aren't my mother, Mycroft."

"Yet you are my ward nonetheless, finish your supper. And the veggies."

"Mycroft, more like MyMother, the way you try and control and coddle me." Mumbled Sherlock as he viciously stabbed a carrot.

"Well," the eldest's voice took a more solemn tone, "someone must."

...

Mycroft slept soundly that night, for the first time in many months. There was no waking up with hour intervals at a time, or tossing and turning, he slept well, with the sounds of his brother softly snoring in the room adjacent soothing him.

When he woke, he felt genuinely content. That feeling carried him throughout the day, even when Sherlock made a mess of the small library in the office, or when he had what was basically a tantrum over not being allowed out again.

He chimed his bell, signalling for his assistant to enter.

"Godfrey Baker has just been updated to Black Listed." The boss didn't even look up, but said the eight words offhandedly, and immediately set in motion the gears that would destroy this man's life, eventually.

Without a word, the assistant exited.

 _'Such a control freak._ ' Sherlock inwardly remarked, not really knowing what Black Listed meant.

"Now you're the one being the dramatic." Sherlock remarked from his place at the desk. Mycroft scoffed, but grinned nevertheless.

"Like you know what that means."

"It's obviously something very drastic, your assistant doesn't know how to hide his reactions."

"Well, it doesn't concern you so you don't need to spend too much time worrying about it."

"Everything you do concerns me, I'm your brother." It was stated simply, but it meant a lot more to the two brothers.

"Right then, I'm near due for a meeting in fifteen minutes. Come along then, you'll stay exactly where I tell you. No wandering around after yesterday."

"I _said_ I was sorry, I didn't know, but now I do. It's the House of Commons, nothing's going to happen."

Mycroft was relentless, and dragged Sherlock to sit outside the meeting anyways. And he did, for fifteen minutes before deciding to chance it, and hope to get back to his seat before Mycroft was rightfully finished.

He wandered around, and for some reason unknown to even Sherlock wound up back in Mycroft's office.

Apparently, so did Godfrey Baker.

"You aren't supposed to be here."

"Oh, hullo kid. Shoulda thought'a ya being here."

"You're drunk." Sherlock's eyes darted about his person. "I'd ask you how you got in here, but it's obvious you disguised yourself as a construction worker and came in from the roof. That's a lot of planning just because you lost a job."

"I didn't just lose a job! I lost everything, and now... everything is gone. No money, no estate, your 'big brother' just named me a danger to the country. I'll be arrested anyway, for what who knows?" He slurred, ironically chuckling. "Your brother has a way of making _anything_ believable."'

 _'Emotions: Angry, depressed, hopeless'_ Sensing danger Sherlock pressed himself against the door, his final deduction coming too late. _'Armed.'_

"Oh no you don't, you'll go and cry on brother's shoulders, and I won't be anymore satisfied." He seemed alarmingly sober now, and it was all Sherlock could do not to turn his back when Sir Baker reached into his jacket and pointed a gun at him.

"You're obviously experiencing some sort of emotional breakdown-" Sherlock began but abruptly stopped when Baker moved closer to him, murder in his eyes.

"You're just like him aren't you? Cold, heartless. That's no way to live."

Fancies himself a humanitarian does he? Sherlock decided he'd manipulate that side of him.

"Please, I'm not even fifteen yet. My birthdays just after the New Year, I never get to see my brother. I'm staying with him for the holidays." Sherlock set out to make him look as small and innocent as possible. He even put a quiver in his voice.

For a moment, he thought it would work. Sir Baker's hand wavered and shook from where he stood.

"I'm sorry kid, I am. But if Mycroft hadn't decided to ruin my life I wouldn't have to do this, the scales need to be balanced again. I was planning on just shooting Mycroft, but I think this will do an even better job."

He pointed the gun at Sherlock, his hand still shaking. Unable to look at his victim he turned away, but Sherlock stayed looking down the barrel of the gun.

From down the corridor two shots were heard.

And Mycroft felt his world come down.

* * *

 **A.N: So this chapter was going to be all the way up until Sherlock meets John, but as it is this is almost ten thousand words and that's CRAZY to me. My longest chapter before this was 4000 words, I don't know if 10,000 words is too long for single chapter. It sure feels like it. It went through two re-writes and copious amounts of editing, so we've been down a bit of a road together already. I started this in _May_. **

**Also, my darling WhiteGloves has two amazing Mycroft/Sherlock brotherly love stories called The Spare Holmes, and its sequel The Hidden Holmes. If you like this, you should check those out. Happy reading! :)**

 **Anyways, thank you for making it to the end. Already love you all, please tell me what you think! Always up for constructive criticism. Until next time; stay awesome.**


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